


Lies You've Told Me

by mediocre_kazoo_player



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mindbreak, One (1) vague sex scene, Oops! All Tsumugi, Post-Game, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 09:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16679413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediocre_kazoo_player/pseuds/mediocre_kazoo_player
Summary: Mercifully, season 53 ends. Drowsy blinking lights welcome the cast as they emerge from what is essentially an enhanced REM sleep, once more entering the real world. The fuzzy voice over the PA says that there will be a post-production party in the Green Lounge, wing B.Only two people show up."Yoo-hoo, Kokichi! Angie heard they were serving cookies here," Tsumugi chirps, tilting her entire upper body sideways.Kokichi stares."Hey, what's the matter, man? At least say something." She's frowning now, rubbing the back of her head with one hand.The puzzle pieces click. "Momota-chan?""Yeah?"Kokichi laughs a warbling laugh, clapping a hand to his forehead where the phantom of an unsightly, floorboard-shaped gash still lingers. "Holy shit, you're crazy."





	Lies You've Told Me

* * *

 

 

"Holy shit, you're crazy."  
  
In retrospect, that hadn't been the most intelligent choice of words. The hasty debriefing Kokichi had received moments after being wheeled out of the pitch-black ward had established quite well that Tsumugi Shirogane was a force to be reckoned with. She was the mastermind. She was an employee here for years before her debut on the show. That much made sense, rolled through his mushy post-coma brain with as much ease as anything else could.  
  
But then she was Kaede.  
  
She was Shuichi.  
  
She was Kirumi and Ryoma and Angie and Tenko and, and, and  
  
A line of pain in the image of that damned floorboard throbs in Kokichi's skull. He looks over at Tsumugi, who is Gonta.  
  
"Ouma-kun okay?" asks Gonta, hunched over and tapping his fingers together in concern.  
  
"Ouma-kun fine," Kokichi responds tersely. There's something repulsive about the way Gonta's blue eyes flicker back and forth between Kokichi and his own fidgeting hands, he thinks. Fuck, thinking is a mistake. His migraine starts to make noise, a whiny ringing that makes him screw his eyes shut and hiss miserably.  
  
"...Gonta thinks that is lie."  
  
It's wrong. That voice is wrong. It has the same earnest timbre that Kokichi remembers, but it's too _high_. His head rings.  
  
" _You're_ lie, you big fat oaf."  
  
Gonta frowns, offended. "Gonta not understand how," he says slowly, the end of it tilting upwards in tone like an attempt at a question.  
  
The wrong, wrong voice creeping up half an octave higher makes Kokichi seethe. "Gonta not understand? What's there to not understand? Do you _lose_ intelligence over time, Gonta? Are you even more fucking stupid than the half-potty-trained dirt-gobbling mouth breather I met on our first day together? Huh?"  
  
Gonta flinches. An accusatory grin bisects Kokichi's chalk-white face ear to ear as he leans over, grabs a tight fistful of Gonta's oily hair, and begins to shout into his ear.  
  
"It's been fourteen FUCKING hours, Shirogane-chan! Fourteen hours of me and miss coo-coo mastermind pretending to be all of my dead friends and doing a FUCKING PISS POOR JOB OF IT." Kokichi yanks his fist backwards and stares into those teary bright blue eyes. Blue blue blue blue blue. "YOU CALL THIS COSPLAY, YOU GREASY TWO-FACED SKANK?" He cocks his open hand. Gonta cowers. Thud. The impact knocks Gonta's glasses off. "DO YOU?" Thud. "DO YOU?"  
  
A runny tributary of snot dribbles from Gonta's nose. Kokichi's upper lip curls in disgust.  
  
"Gonta...really not understand..."  
  
He releases his grip and Gonta's head hits the table with a dull _thunk_.  
  
"I hate liars."  
  
  
  
Kokichi sleeps in on Saturday morning. That's what he usually does, probably. His head is still foggy with implanted memories, but he can still spot flecks of a tidy, plain dorm room peeking through from behind the coattails and mismatched buttons of whichever DICE member served as the Ultimate Supreme Leader's wake-up call.  
  
It wasn't a large room by any means, but it was comfortable. It had canvas curtains that were good for blocking out the sun if he wanted to doze until noon. The blinds in this hospital room are a little too forgiving; Kokichi scoots down in his bed until the stripe of sunlight running across his forehead stops bothering him.  
  
It's eleven thirty. The comforter feels heavy on his body, like it's pushing him down into the sheets. Five more minutes? Ten?  
  
Someone is playing piano.  
  
It's too distant for him to make out clearly from here in his warm bed, so he reluctantly forces himself out of the comforter's cozy embrace to sate his curiosity.  
  
Adjusting his bandana, Kokichi rounds the corner into the common area, where Kaede is sitting in front of the grand piano, surrounded by potted plants.  
  
She notices him. Her blue blue blue irises pull back to make room for her dilating pupils. "Good morning, Ouma-kun!"  
  
For some reason or another, he doesn't have the energy for a "hiya" or a "well if it isn't good old Bakamatsu-chan!" He dodges a gangling palm leaf and sits down next to her on the bench. "Hey."  
  
"I haven't seen you in a while," she says. What a warm voice. Too bad it's still too high. "Have you been alright?"  
  
He doesn't answer. She fidgets with the straps on her backpack.  
  
"Well, um...Even if you don't feel like talking, you can still stay and listen. I hope you feel better."  
  
She takes to the keys. Plunk plunk plunk, come the discordant notes, plopping miserably out of the piano one by one by two by three at a time, four, like chords all crumpled in a tightly clenched fist and flattened out again. Kokichi covers his ears and whimpers.  
  
"H-hey, is something wrong?"  
  
"Your piano playing sucks."  
  
Before she can even frown in gentle confusion like she tends to when he's around, he takes off, trundling through a waxy divider of plastic palm trees to a place where he doesn't have to talk to Kaede Akamatsu.  
  
  
  
Fifteen names on a complimentary notepad, written with a complimentary pen.  
  
Crossed off:  
  
Gonta Gokuhara. Glasses.  
  
Kaede Akamatsu. Backpack.  
  
Tenko Chabashira, who slammed the door in Kokichi's face before he could raise his hand in greeting or poke fun at the haphazard way her stupid pinwheel bow was affixed to her blue blue blue hair. Thank god.  
  
Korekiyo Shinguji and the velociraptor locomotion of his tall body as he ambled towards Kokichi with what was probably an attempt at an amicable smile behind his mask. The effect was frightening.  
  
Himiko Yumeno, who survived the killing game. Who didn't feel safe alone with Kokichi. Who tugged the wide brim of her witch's hat over her blue blue blue eyes chanting a vanishing spell, never mind that she was taller than him and could see him peeking up at her curiously if she lowered her gaze enough, and scurried off to find a nicer person to talk to.  
  
The automatic door to the sleep unit whirs. Kokichi jumps and flips the pad closed with the haste of a man possessed.  
  
"Ouma-kun?"  
  
Baseball cap.  
  
_Shit_.  
  
For a terrifying moment, Kokichi's face is an open book, split wide with all of the gory details of his fear written out on stark white pages. "...Saihara-chan. Saihara-chan! There you are! I've been looking all over the place for you!" And he flips it closed. "Maaaan, I checked underneath the couch two hundred times alone, even though I know your fat ass wouldn't fit down there. And that's...That's 'cause you've been avoiding me, haven't you?"  
  
The fake tears don't come as easily as they used to. They make his eyes burn a little, which actually makes him tear up--it's not ideal, but it's better than nothing.  
  
Shuichi sighs, already sounding tired. Kokichi's heart hammers in his chest.  
  
"Well, considering the terms we...parted on, it shouldn't be that surprising that I'd want to avoid you."  
  
"Yeowch!" Kokichi cries, clapping both hands theatrically over his thudding, shuddering, breaking heart. It's just an exaggeration. It doesn't really hurt that much, he tells himself. "So mean! After I worked my butt off to save all you guys from the killing game, this is the thanks I get? You're even more evil than I am, and I'm _super duper_ evil."  
  
Shuichi presses his lips together. The door inches out of its sheath and slides shut with the skeuomorphic click of an electronic lock. "That's what I want to talk about, actually."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Even now, I don't think I understand anything about you. I don't know why you did what you did. On top of all that, I feel like I didn't even give you a chance." The more he speaks, the more Shuichi's voice trembles. He sounds so genuine that his jaw looks sharper, his hair darker, his collar taller and his eyes a warmer blue. "So, if you'll let me...I want to get to know you better."  
  
He extends a hand.  
  
"...Clever." Kokichi smiles, arms crossed. "Well, I'll let you off the hook this time since you decided to kiss up to me. Next time, you get a strike, and after three strikes you have to perform a humiliating ritual as an apology because sorry ain't gonna cut it anymore."  
  
He takes Shuichi's hand. It's warm and solid, the knuckles broader than his own, the nails longer. A giddy warmth rushes up his arm and straight into his soul. He feels sparks up and down his body like he's a firecracker on New Year's Eve, even though in the back of his mind there lingers an implacable uneasiness.  
  
Shuichi grins, and Kokichi swears he can feel it on his skin like the heat of the sun on a summer day. "Thank you, Ouma-kun."  
  
  
  
(Something must be wrong. Something has to be wrong.)  
  
Shuichi folds up the chess board and taps his fingers against it absentmindedly. "I can't remember a time when I talked this long to anyone," he says softly, a wistful smile gracing his lips. His voice is slightly hoarse from overuse.  
  
"That's your instincts working for ya, chap." Kokichi stretches and feels a few vertebrae pop. Yeesh. To be fair, it was an intense game, and he's pretty sure he focuses better when he's hunched over the board. "If you fail to engage me, you're in big trouble."  
  
(Something must be wrong. This is going too well.)  
  
"Oh, really? A chess game isn't enough engagement for you?"  
  
"Saihara-chan, good heavens! If anyone else back talked me like that, they'd regret it for the rest of their sorry lives. Lucky for you, I love you with all of my heart, so I can't bear to send you to Timbuktu like all the others...!"  
  
Shuichi chuckles brightly, enjoying himself. And then, with a palm against his cheek, he looks Kokichi in the eye and says: "Of course you love me."  
  
Something is wrong.  
  
When Kokichi doesn't whip up a comeback in time, Shuichi continues, his smile growing colder by the second. "You're a misunderstood pretty boy and a major antagonist to boot. A Kaworu-type. No, a Ryo-type, rather. All you're missing is the white hair." The light has gone out of his eyes. They're blue, bright blue. "Or would you prefer to call yourself an antihero? Either way, since I'm the boring protagonist who can play the tsukkomi to your boke, it's plain to see that we were destined for each other."  
  
There it is, a shot of ice through the veins. There's nowhere to run to, so Kokichi sits tight.  
  
"Not really, though. By law of fiction, your puppy crush has to be unrequited in the most painful way. Yep, it's a puppy crush because it's like crushing puppies underneath a hydraulic press."  
  
He tries not to wince, but he does. His ribcage feels like it has collapsed. Shuichi laughs. It's too high.  
  
"I don't love you, Ouma-kun. I never will. If I did, you wouldn't be half as lucrative a character!"  
  
Scratch collapsed, it's shattered. Kokichi swallows, and it feels like his esophagus is straining against little shards of bone and viscera all in the wrong places.  
  
"But you know who does love you?" Shuichi doesn't wait for a response. "That's right, thousands of fictional copies of me! People all over the world will create me anew just so I can fall in love with you and make you happy. Novels, doujinshi, you name it. They want someone to comfort you after all your suffering. They want someone to finally understand you, and deep down, that's what you want too, isn't it? That's how you were written."  
  
"Nuh uh. An evil supreme leader never reveals his secrets." Kokichi hates how weak he sounds.  
  
"Lying again, you filthy liar!" The armchair creaks as Shuichi stands up and begins to stalk around the table where they'd just been happily playing chess minutes ago, skirt swishing over his bare legs. "That misunderstood quality...is one of your biggest charm points. It makes you relatable, Ouma-kun. Everyone wants someone to listen to them, to care about them. And lots of insecure people feel like nobody truly understands them. Like they'll always be alone."  
  
The seat cushion underneath Kokichi sags as Shuichi drops his weight down on it as well, far too close, far too confidently.  
  
"Yes, that's why you're so appealing. You're just begging to be fictionally loved and doted on after that gruesome death you died, all alone and hated by everyone!"  
  
Their bodies intertwine. Shuichi breathes heavily enough for Kokichi to feel it on his neck, ticklish and frightening and soothing all at once, twisting every nerve in his body until the nauseating combination of everything suddenly feels exhilarating.  
  
"And of course...let's not forget that...this wonderful formula works very well on lonely girls."  
  
Shuichi's hands slide down his chest, down his stomach, down onto his hips. The world spins.  
  
"Mm-hmm. Yes. Ouma-kun is so small and cute, just like a girl. It's so easy for them to slip into your body and picture themselves there, isolated and friendless." Is he crying? Kokichi might be crying. Only a little, though, and it's not running down his face, so he's in the clear. Suddenly, Shuichi's hand seizes his chin, forcing him to look directly into those blue blue blue eyes, looming large at this close distance. "Look at this smooth skin! These long lashes! These soft lips!"  
  
He feels something warm welling up inside him. It's not the firecracker sparks from earlier, not the sun beating down on a city street lined with vendors and shops selling suika watermelon ice cream bars. It's a sick heat, one that churns through him like a high fever as he lies helpless in Shuichi's grip.  
  
"And just like most lonely girls, he wants to be understood and cared for by a cute boy who falls out of the sky. So what'll it be this time? Mysterious Amami-kun for the ones who wish they had an older brother to confide in? Momota-kun who believes in you and always has your back? Maybe even Kiibo-kun, even though he's just a soulless metal husk?" Shuichi's lips on his jawline, muttering quietly into his ear in a voice that is far too high. "...Or do you want me?" Kokichi is on fire. "A detective...who chases you to the ends of the earth...through hell and high water, just for a peek at the man behind the mask."  
  
"Nishishi." A pale hand reaches up, secures the bill of Shuichi's hat between two thin fingers, yanks it off with a limp flick of the wrist, and plummets with its stolen treasure like a shot dove. "You can stop pretending now, Shirogane-chan."  
  
Tsumugi giggles into his neck. Her hands are all over his overheating body and he gives her a bleary, submissive look when she turns him over to face her. "What a stupid move," she says, her lips glistening with saliva. "Nobody wants to read about a plain Jane like me getting in the way of the important people."  
  
"...Then nobody has to see."  
  
Her eyes glint. Maybe it's revenge, the way she grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back, making him gasp in pain. Her flavorless chapstick smears against the side of his mouth as she dives into the kiss with the ferocity of a wild beast.  
  
She's suffocating him. Kokichi moans in defeat, so lightheaded he feels as if someone has replaced his brain with cotton candy. Her tongue crashes into him over and over, a rolling tide he's too dazed to defend himself against.  
  
"Mnf--Ahh, mmnh, Shiro--" She's on him again, no time to breathe. Is a near-death experience supposed to feel this good? "Mmm...!" He can't hear himself anymore, just the obscene, wet noises of her having her way with his mouth. The tide overtakes him and his eyes roll back into his head from the feeling.  
  
When she finally pulls back, there's drool slipping out of the corner of his mouth and wet patches of tears dabbled all over his flushed face. He's too tired to wipe any of it away. He's too tired to move.  
  
"You should rest," Tsumugi says, matter-of-factly in her plain voice. She cleans her glasses with a handkerchief.  
  
That's the last thing he sees as he mumbles a sleepy "okay," lets his head drop onto her shoulder, and passes out.  
  
  
  
"Ah, man." Rantaro clicks his tongue, pulling his long, wavy hair back over his shoulders. "I need a haircut." The jewelry adorning both of his hands jingles as he wrestles those blue tendrils into a high ponytail.  
  
"I'll cut it for you, Amami-nii-chan. Did you know that my secondary title is actually the Ultimate Hairdresser?" Kokichi makes little chopping motions with his index and middle fingers, smiling gleefully at Rantaro's perplexed expression. "You're in good hands!"  
  
"Funny you should mention that," Rantaro says, donning a pair of yellow rubber gloves and hoisting a cutting board out of the sink. "My older sister used to cut my hair back when I was in junior high. She always did it with an electric razor and nothing else. Same with her own hair."  
  
"Oh? A competitor? I'll make sure to outdo her a million times over."  
  
Rantaro snorts. "You don't even have to try. It was awful. We both had bowl cuts that made us look like walking toadstools." He casts Kokichi a sidelong glance and a worried crease pinches his eyebrows together. "...Though she wasn't actively trying to make it bad. Knowing you, I'll be looking forward to a trendy new style with seven different bald patches."  
  
"Only the best for my beloved!" Kokichi chirps. It's impossible not to grin at how Rantaro shakes his head.  
  
The kitchen grows comfortably quiet for a moment or two, Kokichi leaning on the counter idly as Rantaro soaps their dirty bowls and plates up with a sponge and deposits them in the dishwasher.  
  
"Guess you don't have to deal with her bowl cuts anymore since you lost her at sea, huh?"  
  
Rantaro looks at him, eyebrows raised. "What? Oh, no, I'm talking about my actual sister." He sets down the two china mugs they drank from during their officially sanctioned tea time earlier. Citrus-scented suds roll down the handles. "She's a real estate agent. Should I take you to meet her after we get out? I think you'll like her."  
  
Kokichi wonders if she's Rantaro's sister, Tsumugi's sister, or just another lie. "A real estate agent. Tell me, Amami-chan, why do you think I'd get along with a boring person like that?"  
  
"Hey, don't judge a book by its cover." Suds drip off of the rinse cycle button. The dishwasher rumbles happily. "She's a child at heart, just like you. Always gets the weirdest candies for the bowl on top of her desk. She even had crickets once."  
  
"Those aren't candies."  
  
"Chocolate-covered crickets."  
  
"Bleeeeeugh."  
  
But Kokichi can't deny that it sends a pang of nostalgia through his chest, that image. A mahogany desk in a small office, a lady sitting behind it, prettied up with lipstick and eyeliner but still sporting the same mushroom top as ever.  
  
"Won't you meet my family, Ouma-kun? You should come to dinner. I can't wait to introduce you." Rantaro holds him snugly by the waist, chin tucked into the crook of his neck affectionately. The dishwasher counts down, seven to six minutes left.  
  
"I'll consider it," Kokichi says, and presses a kiss to Rantaro's cheek. He can feel Rantaro smile.  
  
"Good enough for me."  
  
  
  
"Baaaabe! A little help here?"  
  
Kokichi groans, trying to bury his face in the book he's reading. It's a Miu day.  
  
"Come on! Don't leave me hanging, you little limp-dicked mole rat!"  
  
Kokichi is busy. He's reading a very interesting book. It's about--  
  
"Hey! I'm literally hanging up here! At least bring me a fucking ladder or something!"  
  
\--microeconomics, and--  
  
"OUMA, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"  
  
\--Well. He's actually going to have to deal with her, isn't he. He gets up, pushes his chair in with more force than necessary, and follows her agitated squealing into the bathroom.  
  
Miu is hanging onto one of the sleek wooden beams that go across the bathroom's high ceiling, dangling in the air like she's riding an invisible subway train that passes through the middle of the hospital's third floor extended residence area. A stepping stool lies in pieces next to the sink.  
  
Kokichi puts his hands on his hips and looks up at her noncommittally.  
  
"H-hey," Miu squeaks, suddenly noticing him. She cranes her neck, looking for something. "Where's the ladder? Did you--oh, forget it, I don't know what I expected."  
  
He continues to stare.  
  
"A-are you really just going to leave me like this?"  
  
They're a little hard to see under her long, navy skirt, but sure enough, those are Miu's lacy panties.  
  
"Fuck me, you just came here to enjoy the view, huh? Sometimes I think you only shacked up with me for my bod," she whines. Her legs kick in the air. "Ngghh...I wonder if there's a name for this. Hey, jumbo shrimp, are you into suspension play?"  
  
He's leaving.  
  
"Hey! Ouma, wait! Get me down from here! OUMA!"  
  
  
  
The bathroom is dim, illuminated only by the shifting mood lights Miu installed days before. The blue and the pink catch especially well on the hot clouds of steam rising from inside the glass shower cubicle.  
  
A rumpled heap of clothes sits next to the tub. From afar, it looks like a spotted cat preening itself, black and white and topped off with Ryoma's hat.  
  
Ryoma's slick skin is dripping with blue and pink. He looks like a wet city street underneath a bar and a nightclub, water glancing off every inch of his shapely figure. "Hey," he says, and Kokichi can't help but find the deeper pitch of his voice kind of sexy. "What're you looking at?"  
  
Kokichi shrugs, stripes of light washing over his clavicles like windshield wipers. "You?"  
  
Ryoma stops lathering his hands with soap for a moment and throws a glance over his shoulder. "Heh." He continues. "There's not much of anything to ogle. I'm no Ultimate Tennis Pro."  
  
"Who cares? I still want a piece of that."  
  
Water beats down on the tiled shower floor.  
  
"Then quit gawkin', kid, and come over here."  
  
Kokichi laughs and pushes himself off of the wall with a thrust of his elbow, slyly jabbing it into a hidden button painted the same neutral shade as the bathroom tiling. To his credit, Ryoma only looks a little surprised when a steady, soulful beat starts to play from speakers high up on the ceiling.  
  
Thin arms hook themselves around the back of his neck and the two of them lean in close, easing each other into a slow, sweet kiss. The music pulses encouragingly around them.  
  
"Impressed?" Kokichi asks softly, once they've parted.  
  
"Dunno. I expected a little more showmanship from an evil supreme leader." It's impossible to make out exactly what expression is on Ryoma's face through the water droplets webbing themselves across Kokichi's lashes, but he sounds fond. Good.  
  
"Sarcasm is the worst kind of lie, Hoshi-chan. Super uncool." The evil supreme leader smiles a hypocrite's smile as he leans upward into the hot rain for another kiss, just in time for the vocals to start.  
  
_I'm tired of playing on the team_  
_It seems I don't get time out anymore_  
_What a change if we set the pace face to face_  
_No one even trying to score_  
  
"You know there's no time out in tennis, right?"  
  
"We're not playing tennis, dumb dumb."  
  
"So we're playing..."  
  
"Penis."  
  
One more kiss. Kokichi suspects it's a secret code for "shut up."  
  
_Oh, oh, I can feel the magic of your touch_  
_And when you move in close, a little bit means so much_  
_Oooh, yeah, you've got to understand, baby_  
_Time out is what I'm here for_  
  
"Fuck, Ouma..."  
  
"Mmm, yeah? Is that what you wanna do?"  
  
"Hell, why not."  
  
Kokichi's on his knees before the chorus hits.  
  
  
  
There's hair all over the bathroom floor. Long oodles of it, some of it slick and navy-hued from the assault of a spray bottle. In the epicenter sits a shuddering figure, her face buried in her hands.  
  
"Toujou-chan?" Red-rimmed and puffy eyes, blue irises warped with glassy tears. "I got the broom."  
  
"Thanks," she says, hoarsely, and accepts the handle when he gives it to her.  
  
She remains there for a while, shoulderblades pushed forward like a wounded bird sheltering itself with its closed wings.  
  
"I don't want to look at this thing," she says out of the blue, tossing the broom aside. "I'm useless."  
  
"Come on, mom."  
  
"Don't call me that." Her gloved hands clutch her skirt, where even more hair pools messily. "I don't deserve to be referred to as a mother when I can't be depended on for anything. Can't cook, can't clean, can't do laundry or handle paperwork or even cut my own hair like--like my sister taught me to--" An electric razor lies unplugged under the sink.  
  
Kirumi sniffles. She doesn't have a bowl cut, thank goodness, but it's definitely a lot shorter. Kokichi sits down next to her. "What are you talking about? I saw you cooking just yesterday."  
  
"Tastes awful," she retorts. Kokichi keeps his mouth shut. "You said so yourself." Should've kept his mouth shut earlier.  
  
"I'll eat my mom's cooking even if it's awful." He reaches over to pat her on the shoulder but she flinches away. He sets his hand back down on his lap. "It doesn't matter if you're not who you used to be, y'know. That person was fake anyway. All that matters is that you're here."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Hey--"  
  
"Can you leave me alone for a while?" Kirumi's looking at him with a small, rueful smile. "I'm sorry you had to see me in such a state, Ouma-kun. I'll put myself together soon."  
  
"I...yeah, sure. Seeya, Toujou-chan."  
  
Minutes later, a loud crash originates from behind the closed bathroom door. Kokichi spins on his heel and dashes back inside.  
  
"Owie!" someone exclaims. "Oh, hi, Kokichi! Angie found a lot of hair in here and she was gonna use it for a project! It's just--" Angie attempts to stand up, but her legs slide out from underneath her. "--a little slippery. Ho, hum, Atua must be giving Angie a trial to test her will."  
  
There are piles of hair all around the bathroom, little ones and medium-sized ones, and one giant haystack that Angie is sitting on top of. The broom handle pokes out from behind it, as if Kirumi had been cleaning when she suddenly vanished.  
  
When she suddenly vanished and became Angie.  
  
Angie tries to stand up again, only to slip and fall in the same way as before. Her head hits the cold tile with a loud crack that makes Kokichi grit his teeth.  
  
"Angie can't do anything..." she complains, face squashed against the floor. "Angie's useless."  
  
Her body heaves.  
  
"Why are you still here?" Kirumi asks resentfully. "I told you to go away, so get out. Get out, or Atua will punish you for disobeying His messenger." She lurches into an upright position, groaning. "I'm not His vessel anymore, though. I'm just useless. His voice is gone from within me."  
  
There's nothing Kokichi can say to that.  
  
"I don't hear anything," she continues, frowning. "Did I lose my antenna again? I swear I heard my inner voice just yesterday."  
  
"...Kiiboy?"  
  
"Don't call me that!" Kiibo shrieks, doubling over. "Don't call me that! I don't deserve it! I'll never be a mother! All 'cause of that impotent little worm dick you're hidin' in your McDonald's undies! Fuck! I can't do anything!"  
  
The mastermind is not a pitiable person. Moments after learning of her identity, Kokichi swore up and down that he'd resent her for the rest of his life, despite realizing that he was alive and the others probably were, too. His feelings from the killing game must have still been at a full boil back then.  
  
"I can't cook, I can't clean, I can't, I can't--You know Clair de Lune? By Claude Debussy? I can't play it! Gonta don't know! Gonta don't know!"  
  
But now, quietly observing the frenzied mass of personalities ripping into each other and thrashing Tsumugi's limp body around like a voodoo doll made of flesh and blood, he can't help but feel sorry for her.  
  
"Gonta don't know anything, promise! Gonta not do it! I don't know who did it, I don't know who did it or why, I--I'm just an amateur detective, really, I don't deserve to be called an Ultimate--I'm useless!"  
  
He can't help but feel sorry for everyone trapped inside of her.  
  
"I'm useless," the jumbled amalgam wheezes as he takes it into his arms. "I'm so tired. This is such a bother."  
  
He squeezes it tight to his chest. "It's okay," he says, his voice small and meek.  
  
"Do you want to die?"  
  
"It's okay."  
  
"Don't touch me, degenerate male."  
  
"You'll be fine."  
  
"...That's wrong."  
  
"Shhh. You're gonna be alright."  
  
He sits there, rocking the limp body in his arms soothingly, rubbing its back, quelling its teary fretting with little white lies.  
  
At last, Kiibo lifts his head. "...Ouma-kun? If it's not a bother, can I...er, can I try to make the human food again tonight? I know how to use the oven now," he adds quickly.  
  
"Yeah, of course. How about you go make dinner while I clean this up?"  
  
"Ah--" Kiibo's cheeks flush and he presses his index fingers together. "Erm--Sorry about the mess, I just wanted to--"  
  
Kokichi giggles, cups Kiibo's face in his palms, and silences him with a quick peck on the lips. "I forgive you, silly." His thumbs brush away some stray tears that haven't dried yet. "Let me take care of this, okay? Now go, I'm starving. You don't want me to eat you instead."  
  
"Okay," says Kiibo, whose face is the same shade as a cherry tomato. "I-I'll succeed this time! Even if I don't, I'll try again until I do!"  
  
"That's the spirit, Kiibaby!"  
  
"That nickname's even worse--!"  
  
  
  
  
At 5:35 in the morning, someone decides to rev up a chainsaw in the sleep unit. Kokichi irritably peels one eye open and reads the lime green numbers on the radio clock. "Cut that out," he grumbles.  
  
The perpetrator is asleep. He jabs them in the side with an elbow and the snoring halts.  
  
"Mmmmwhat is it, 'Kichi?"  
  
"Bulldozer..."  
  
Kokichi feels a pair of arms pulling him closer and is about to go back to sleep when he feels bare boobs against his back.  
  
"Whoa!" he yelps. Who the hell--oh, first name. "Yonaga-chan, not now!"  
  
"Yonaga's in here?"  
  
Clumsy fingers fumble for the lamp. Click. Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars, in all his topless glory, squints and looks for where Angie might be hidden under the covers.  
  
His wavy, bobbed hair is sticking up all over, the shortest part of his bangs standing on end as if electrocuted. The gentle gold-tinted light of the lamp showers his back and the left half of his torso with a warm glow, gilding his shimmering shoulders and sweeping over his breasts down to where the rest of him disappears under the covers. Kokichi observes the partial solar eclipse lying next to him in bed and realizes that his cheeks are way hotter than they should be.  
  
"No, idiothead, there's this thing called phone calls." He turns over and plops back into the mattress with a huff.  
  
"Don't get all pissy at me now. I didn't know you were calling her." Kaito shifts under the covers, adjusting himself.  
  
"It's pretty easy to stop snoring, Momota-chan. Just don't breathe."  
  
"You really think I'm gonna fall for that one?"  
  
"Oh, I've got a looooong list of stupid things you've fallen for, space dumbo..."  
  
Kokichi is sleepy enough that he doesn't notice the opening he's left until Kaito laces their fingers together and tells him--"You're on the top of that list."  
  
"Ugh." His cheeks burn, but he can't stop smiling. "You're made of even more cheese than the moon."  
  
"That's no cheese at all."  
  
"Then explain to me why there's a giant rat on the moon."  
  
"It's a rabbit, dumbass."  
  
"What? Are you nuts? Rabbits can't live on the moon!"  
  
"It's a fucking folk--Argh! You're a piece of work!"  
  
Kokichi's shoulders shake with self-satisfied laughter as he feels Kaito untangle their fingers and deal him a hearty _whap_ to the back.  
  
Later, when they've both calmed down, Kaito draws the covers tight around Kokichi and Kokichi withstands the boobs squashed up against his back this time. It's something he'll have to get used to.  
  
"G'night?"  
  
"It's six in the morning."  
  
"You know what I meant."  
  
"Nishishi." He feels the mattress swallowing him up again, but first-- "Hey, Momota-chan?"  
  
"Mm?"  
  
"Why'd you call me by my first name when you woke up?"  
  
Kaito clears his throat awkwardly. "Well, uh...guess it was on my mind all yesterday, and...it was about time. I mean, that's the way it is with both Shuichi and Maki Roll, so."  
  
"So you downgraded me to the same level as those commoners."  
  
"Oh, piss off."  
  
"I'll piss right into a good night's sleep, thanks."  
  
He ignores the disgruntled mutter of _what does that even mean_ and drifts off peacefully in Kaito's arms.  
  
  
  
  
Kokichi has a two-hour dream about his sister.  
  
Her name is Ryoko and she's always been a big fan of Danganronpa. Just like her parents. Just like her grandparents before her parents. He sees Ryoko again the way she was when she was sixteen, in pink sandals and a Monokuma tanktop, dragging her thirteen-year-old little brother up the stairs to the television room.  
  
"Are you gonna do it when you're old enough?" he asks her as she flops onto the couch and turns the TV on.  
  
"Duh! Mom says I have a strong brain. Most people can pass the qualifications anyway, so it doesn't hurt to try, right?"  
  
His vision squiggles like a VHS on fast forward. Ryoko is eighteen. She's locked in her room and won't come out.  
  
"Dinner's ready," Kokichi calls out in vain.  
  
Ryoko is twenty-one. "Is that your application?" she asks.  
  
Kokichi, eighteen, nods. She turns the envelope over in her hands.  
  
"Yeah...it definitely has a lucky aura. Do your best at the auditions! Make our family proud!" She does a fist pump and it's so absurdly Ryoko that they both break down laughing in the middle of the izakaya.  
  
More scattered memories. Ryoko tries to tie a ponytail but only ends up with a little nub. Mom and Dad are commuting workers.  
  
Kokichi, thirteen, needs a haircut.  
  
Ryoko gets out her  
  
Electric razor and  
  
Gives him a bowl cut  
  
Just like hers  
  
Ryoko, twenty-one, graduates and goes into real estate and sits at her mahogany desk in a small office and fills her candy bowl up with weird things like chocolate-covered crickets and calls her little brother on the phone to congratulate him when he gets into Danganronpa. She's wearing eyeliner and lipstick but hasn't stopped cutting her own hair and she still looks like a mushroom like a toadstool and it's awful.  
  
Kokichi, sixteen, makes his debut cosplay as Junko Enoshima and gains a huge online following overnight and there are many perverted men talking about his legs his legs her legs his legs her legs and then Kokichi, seventeen, builds up a reputation as the most dedicated dedicated dedicated Danganronpa cosplayer, always as in character as possible, practicing how to be different people in front of his mirror in a plain dormitory room with canvas curtains and then Kokichi, eighteen, applies to Danganronpa, goes through the auditions beaming up at the camera with his blue blue blue eyes wide open and is accepted as the Ultimate Cosplayer.  
  
Ryoko Shirogane calls him on the phone and her cheery voice says, "Tsumugi, you made it!"  
  
Kokichi screams.  
  
  
  
  
"Kokichi! Hey! Are you alright, man?"  
  
He doesn't dare turn around.  
  
"You awake?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Oh." A weight sinks into the mattress behind him. Please god dear god please don't disappear. "Don't worry. I get nightmares about the game too. Fucking annoying if you ask me."  
  
"About the game?"  
  
"Yeah? You were crying into your pillow and saying Shirogane's name over and over again."  
  
"Huh."  
  
More pressure on the mattress. Kokichi starts to feel safe again.  
  
"Momota-chan, you're not actually a ghost, are you?"  
  
"What the fuck gave you that idea?"  
  
He turns around. Kaito is still there, not gone, not fading from sight or anything like that. Kaito hasn't left him. He feels happy tears pricking at his eyes and nestles his head back into the still-damp pillow. "I'm so glad Momota-chan isn't a ghost."  
  
"Man, the things you say sometimes..."  
  
  
  
  
Kaito disappears into the study to call his grandparents, despite Kokichi clinging to his arm like a frightened toddler all throughout the morning. He doesn't come out of the study for lunch and no amount of banging on the locked door produces a response. A number of provocative phrases that should have him slamming it open with veins bulging out of his forehead are met with complete silence.  
  
Kokichi runs in and out of the bathroom, checking his reflection in the mirror and then scampering away again. Sometimes his eyes look blue. He doesn't like that at all.  
  
Every five minutes or so he returns to the study and bangs on the door. He gets his hands on a stash of bobby pins and goes to pick the lock but it's electronic. He tries anyway. It doesn't work. No noise from inside.  
  
_Don't leave me don't leave me don't leave me I don't want to be alone._  
  
He races back to the study and calls out Kaito's name. He calls out Tsumugi's name. Gonta, Kaede, Tenko, Korekiyo, Himiko. No response.  
  
Sitting down and taking deep breaths only makes things worse. He feels his small body fill up with more and more dread until it overwhelms him.  
  
Then he remembers his sister's phone number.  
  
Kokichi starts to cry.  
  
"Hello! You've reached Ryoko Shirogane. How may I help you?"  
  
"Onee-chan?"  
  
"Mugi? Is that you?"  
  
He hangs up.  
  
_Please don't leave me please don't leave me please don't leave me alone._  
  
He makes dinner at four thirty in the afternoon because he doesn't have anything else to do. Well, there's always the option of doing nothing, but that might as well be torture. So dinner it is.  
  
He chops up the carrots and the lettuce and the bouillon cubes, narrowly missing his fingers. He almost wants to slice into them just so he'll feel something that isn't dread. He slices up some chicken and then some scallions and then potatoes and whatever else he can get his hands on.  
  
In the distance, he hears a noise that sounds like the study door sliding open.  
  
Not even a tenth of a second passes before he's off like a rocket, the kitchen knife still gripped in his white-knuckled hand like a stress ball. Down down the hallway down to the study. Please please please.  
  
Down down down to the study his socks slip on the floorboards and suddenly he's being slammed against the wall so hard his skull vibrates.  
  
Maki Harukawa has her hands wrapped around his throat. "Drop the knife," she threatens. "Now."  
  
Kokichi obeys immediately, letting it clatter to the floor, one lonely carrot rind slipping off of the blade as it falls.  
  
Maki can only stare as he places his small hands over hers, tears brimming in his eyes for the umpteenth time that day as he chokes out an ecstatic "I missed you so much...!"  
  
  
  
"This vegetable soup isn't half bad for something you made," Maki admits. She lifts her arm awkwardly over Kokichi to dip her spoon into the broth again.  
  
Kokichi has both his arms and his legs wrapped around her, refusing to let go. "I may not seem like it, but I'm a world-class cook! There's a lot you have left to learn about little old me, Harukawa-chan."  
  
"Yeah, this isn't world class." She gives up on using the spoon and lifts the entire bowl to her lips. "It's nice, though. Kinda...reminds me of the soup my big sister used to make when Mom and Dad weren't home for dinner."  
  
"Thought you lived at an orphanage."  
  
"My real sister, you cretin." She bops him on the head with her knuckles and it feels like heaven. She's here. She's here, and she's not going away. "I wonder how she's doing. Probably still has that real estate job."  
  
"Who cares," Kokichi whines. "She sounds boring anyway."  
  
"I figured you'd say something like that."  
  
Now that she's back and not going anywhere, he feels tuckered out beyond human imagination. Today was a long day. A very, very long day. Now he's spending his evening with his favorite person in the whole wide world, cuddled up to her, warm and safe, as she drinks the soup he made. It's the little things in life, he thinks. When she cards a hand through his hair and starts to pet him like an oversized lap dog, he nearly faints from happiness.  
  
It might be a while before he feels safe enough to let her go to the bathroom alone.  
  
  
  
  
He steps into the sleep unit, where she's gazing out the open window.  
  
"Ouma-kun?"  
  
"Good morning!"  
  
She turns around. She's wearing a striped shirt dress, hair tucked behind her ears. Her glasses sit on top of her head like a tiara.  
  
Kokichi blinks. "Who are you supposed to be?"  
  
"I'm just me right now. Ryoko mailed over a suitcase full of my old summer clothes."  
  
"Ah."  
  
He joins Tsumugi by the windowsill, leaning on his elbows as a warm breeze drifts by and lifts the white gauze curtains up around the two of them.  
  
"You're not planning on returning home, are you?"  
  
She smiles sadly. "I can't. Danganronpa's still popular out there, and my head, it's...permanently splintered. They can't fix me." Tsumugi puts her chin in her palms, watches a red Toyota pull out of the hospital parking lot and drive away. "They really should've taken Ryoko instead. Mom always said she had a strong brain."  
  
Kokichi wordlessly clasps their hands together and watches the same Toyota until it disappears over the horizon.  
  
"How about you? When are you going home?"  
  
He recognizes the note of anxiety in her voice and his heart melts a little. "Never ever," he reassures her, giving her hand a comforting squeeze.  
  
"A-ah, but--"  
  
"I don't have a home to return to. And besides, I don't wanna leave my beloved Shirogane-chan here all by herself."  
  
She looks at him, all windswept hair and clean white dress, and her eyes, which are really more of a teal-gray than they are blue, grow shimmery with emotion. "You're the love of my life," she blurts. And then she grimaces. "Oh no, that's from a really corny doujin...Why'd I go and say that during such a tense moment?"  
  
Kokichi snickers, leaning his head on her shoulder. "Wow, you're such a loser."  
  
"Hey! Don't pretend you don't steal one-liners from anime all the time, you little copyright infringement!"  
  
"Wh-what? Don't call me that! I would never!"  
  
They volley back and forth until Tsumugi whacks him with a pillow. It devolves from there.  
  
At the end of it all, they sit in a scrambled mess of blankets, sheets, and pillows, disheveled and breathless and flushed with laughter.  
  
"Laundry today?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Tsumugi slips her arms around Kokichi's waist, staring out at the blue sky outside of the hospital window.  
  
"Something on your mind?" he asks.  
  
"N--Well, yeah, I guess." Someone must have mowed the lawn at the nearby corporate park. The smell of freshly cut grass drifts in on the wind. "It's a dumb suspicion, since you've been by my side this whole time, but..."  
  
He knows what it is. "Just ask. I'm not going anywhere."  
  
Tsumugi leans forward, pressed up against his back, and her voice drops so low he can barely hear it. "Ouma-kun, you're...you're not me, are you?"  
  
"Am I? Let me check." He puts on a show of pinching himself all over and comparing his body to hers until she deflates with a mumble of "I told you it was stupid."  
  
"Yep! Really stupid. You can rest easy now since I'm a hundred percent certified not Tsumugi Shirogane," he lies. Nothing new.  
  
"Thank God," she says, and the real relief in her voice makes him feel at least a tiny bit guilty.  
  
It's fine, he reminds himself. Nothing wrong with telling a kind lie. Anything to keep her from feeling that same _please don't leave me please don't leave me please don't leave me here by myself_.  
  
"In fact, Shirogane-chan has been been grinding our relationship so hard lately that I've decided to spill my backstory to her today! Then she can see that it's totally not fifteen years watching Danganronpa in the attic with shitty, boring Ryoko."  
  
He can't see her face, but he knows she's rolling her eyes. "Okay, give me your lore dump." She draws one of the sheets up over their legs like she's getting ready for story time, which makes him giggle.  
  
"Well, it all started one sweltering night in Sapporo, when--"  
  
"Sweltering."  
  
"When a young lady--"  
  
"In Sapporo, Hokkaido."  
  
"Okay! Okay, you got me. I'm actually a farm boy from Nagoya, where--"  
  
"Ouma-kun..."  
  
"Fine, fine, I'm a city slicker. Anyway, my mom's name was..."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Here's more oumugi because I'm sure that's what people want to read, lol
> 
> My bad if there's any typos, it hasn't been proofread. I'll try to fix them. I have another postgame oumugi (can you say one trick pony) fic in drafts but that one's much more lighthearted and not, so, fucking weird


End file.
